


Bonding Exercises

by Stationmaster_Eule_1987



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Angst?, Early Relationship, I don’t know what happened…, It was only supposed to be porn, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, PWP or something like it, There might be plot later because I have no self control...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 12:53:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20174575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stationmaster_Eule_1987/pseuds/Stationmaster_Eule_1987
Summary: Jensen’s not so sure about the team’s new sniper.  After all, who would volunteer for a team called The Losers?





	Bonding Exercises

**Author's Note:**

> I watched The Losers five times in four days, fell in love, and knocked out the happy parts. Then I watched Brokeback Mountain for the first time and…yeah. I may be projecting. I tried to make this stand on its own, but more plot bunnies may spring upon me later.

The fire popped. Broken two-by-fours crumbled into a bed of their own glowing corpses, shooting sparks like a whirlwind of red ghosts into the dark. Jensen sat on a half-squashed oil drum, rolling it an inch forward, an inch back, his beer long since gone flat. Conversation had faltered now that the food was gone and the booze had brought them through giddy I-can’t-believe-we-survived-that to stunned and depressed I-can’t-believe-we-went-through-that. His bright idea of a late-night cookout and bull session had fizzled. Now Clay was drunk, Roque was irritated, and Pooch was homesick. And the new guy…shit, who could tell? He just perched on his shipping crate, cowboy hat shading his face, stroking a whetstone along his bowie knife. He hadn’t said three words to anyone since showing up on the tarmac last week with a bag on his shoulder and a sniper rifle in his hand, just in time to fly out with them for the mission in Bermuda. Sure, the guy could shoot—holy hell, could he shoot—but being part of a team had a little more to it than that. Like talking.

Glancing at him now as surreptitiously as he could, Jensen wondered just what the hell Clay was thinking with this guy. He was just…creepy, dammit. Silent not only in word but action, he had a bad habit of slipping up behind people—namely Jensen—and scaring the crap out of him. Worse, he couldn’t tell if the guy was deliberately goosing him for a laugh, had no idea it was an issue, or was waiting for the opportune moment to sink that Alabama toothpick into his kidney. He was unreadable. And for Jensen, who thrived—survived—by reading people? That was a problem.

Roque and Pooch were arguing, he realized. Peachy. Just what everyone needed. Clay threw a half-empty beer at them, missing embarrassingly, and slurred that they were all wet blankets. Jensen sighed, rocking to his feet to break it up. A whisper of a touch to his wrist froze him in place. The new guy was beside him, vampire-silent, one black eye gleaming under the brim of his hat. Jensen stared. The fingertips on his wrist were as gentle a suggestion as he’d ever experienced, but that opaque expression chilled him. A twitch of his head, and the new guy was leaving, ghosting into the shadows with no one else the wiser.

_Creepy. As. Frick._ And yet, Jensen drifted after him, tension crawling between his shoulder blades as his damnable curiosity, his _need_ to unknot every puzzle, scratch out every secret, gnawed at him that _here’s something worth knowing_.

He just hoped he’d find out more than the color of his own entrails.

Cougar stayed in sight, glancing back for him as the night flooded in around them. Turning random corners, ducking under a long-rusted backhoe arm, he was headed anywhere but towards life and civilization. Jensen was perversely driven to catch up to him, to not get lost in the dark and the maze of equipment and shipping containers, even as the last logical remnant in his brain screamed that he was following the most dangerous thing out here. He couldn’t hear the others anymore, couldn’t even see a gleam of the fire against the sky behind him.

He’d lost the creeper, dammit. Hopping forward with a curse, he nearly came out of his skin as Cougar materialized next to him, leaning on a wall with his arms folded.

“What the shit, man? What are we—”

A hand—well, four fingertips—in the center of his chest shut him up even as it propelled him into the opposite wall. His stomach dropped, frigid sweat breaking out all down his back. Trained response jerked a switchblade from his belt. Cougar slapped it out of his hand and shoved him again, stepping into his space, bringing his face an inch from Jensen’s and he was smiling, _smirking_, the first change of expression he’d shown in a week. He crowded up against him like a sniffing cat. Jensen didn’t see a weapon, there were no strikes or blows, even the shoves were…playful. He could smell the guy’s breath, sweet with caramel and tequila, could see his face as he tilted his hat back on his head. His eyes were soft, holding Jensen’s for a minute, forestalling another outburst, then…dropping to his lips, his chest…lower. Jensen gulped.

“Um…what—and I mean this in the most professional way—the fuck?”

The rasp of his fly opening gave him his answer.

Cougar sank away from his face, kneeling on cold asphalt, opening his jeans with both hands and leaning in to trace the tip of his tongue up the slit he’d opened. Shaking, panting so hard he was already lightheaded, Jensen held his hands out in unconscious shock.

_That’s…unexpected._

Cougar lipped at him through his shorts, gentle, giving him more than enough time to shove him away if he wanted. If he wanted? Shouldn’t he? He wasn’t into guys, he’d never even thought about it before. Now though, with cold metal behind him and hot strong hands squeezing his hips, shivering from both, he had no idea.

The longer it took for him to decide, the more encouraged Cougar got, and the harder it got to think at all. He nibbled over the cloth, then nuzzled in, parting Jensen’s skivvies with his thumbs like peeling an orange to get at the sweetness inside. The brazen lash of his tongue doubled him over, grunting like he’d been kicked there instead of licked. Cougar covered his mouth, shushing him in a throaty half-chuckle that was unexpectedly, ridiculously hot. Jensen discovered that whether he was into guys or not made damn little difference to his dick. He slumped against the steel, feet slipping wide apart, and then, tilted his hips. It was the smallest, most unconscious gesture, but it was pretty well impossible to misinterpret.

Cougar _purred_.

It was not, despite the urgency of his body’s reaction, actually his first blowjob. That was tough to remember as his dick surged to fullness in Cougar’s mouth, as chapped lips first scratched, then moistened on his most sensitive skin, as callused thumbs rubbed in unison at the base of his dick and fingertips tickled in his curls. Dazed, his deepest guts clenching and his legs threatening to collapse, Jensen fought just to keep a coherent thought. The only one he caught hold of was that he shouldn’t leave the guy all alone down there. The hat was in the way, so he stole it to plunk on his own head, getting a raised eyebrow for it. Cougar had long hair, dark as the night around them and so, _so_ soft between his fingers. His expert rhythm hiccupped when Jensen found the spots just behind his ears. Nice to know he was feeling it too. Holding him by the nape of his neck, Jensen stroked his cheeks, thumbs prickling on stubble, groaning when he felt the head of his own dick pressing through Cougar’s cheek.

“Unh…shit. Cougar. Uh. My…mm, the ‘boys’ are a little…confined, down there? It’s hot, man, I gotta…”

Cougar broke suction long enough to tug his shorts over his dick, then swept jeans and skivvies both down to his ankles with a single stout jerk. He was back in a snap, sucking his tip, rolling his tongue against the swelling head. Then he took the whole thing again, lips chasing fingers all the way to the root. Spit and precum glistened in some distant light. His hands were so light, sliding down the hamstrings, grazing the backs of his knees—lucky he was quick there or Jensen really would fall over—then up the insides of his thighs and back to the parts that were already crying to be touched again. Jensen whimpered on every breath.

“God, dude, I’m dying. Please.” Please what? What did he even want? For it to end? For it to _never_ end? He didn’t know. His face went tight, teeth bared, scalp tingling with a burning flush.

“Cover your mouth. I want to make you scream.”

That _voice_—thick and dark as desert honey, hoarse with exertion, and—_Holy fuck. That’s the first thing he’s ever said to me_. Only the hard pinch of Cougar’s lips on his head kept him from exploding that second. He did as he was told, clamping both hands over his mouth.

Cougar switched to stroking, rubbing the ache out of his jaw with the other hand. Just enough of Jensen’s brain still worked for him to be worried that his surprise partner was taking deep breaths, gearing himself up. Licking his lips, flashing a grin that glinted white in the dark, he stood up higher on his knees and dove down on his shaft, taking it all the way into his throat. Muffled by his own hands, Jensen squealed, and kept squealing. He came in the first agonizing constriction, shooting liquid heat down Cougar’s throat, but it wasn’t enough, Jesus, he had a fistful of his hair now, thrusting, coming off the wall and Cougar was soft in his hands, relaxing, holding him by the ass and letting him fuck into his mouth with all the tortured screaming pleasure twisting in his groin and God there were knuckles digging into his—behind his—shit _shit_ what was he touching why did it hurt why was it so _good _how many times could he _burst_ like this?

Cougar reached up to support him as he turned to jelly. Doubled over with his hands on his thighs, every muscle in his body jumping, his glasses had fallen off and disappeared somewhere and he couldn’t care less because Mary mother of God that was the best sex he’d ever had. He fell back on the wall, struggling to fill his lungs. His vision was all spots. Cougar chuckled, twining his arms around Jensen’s thighs to grip his ass, copping a feel while keeping him from melting to the ground. Jensen ran a hand through that silken hair. He stood up, groaning at the ache of strained tendons in his crotch. He wiped his face with a hand he could barely feel and stared at this near-stranger who’d just flipped his world on its axis.

“…Welcome to the team?” he ventured.

Cougar cracked up. His grin was beautiful, his laughter as soft as he was, a shiver more than a sound, and Jensen was hypersensitive enough right now to get a sting in his eyes at how he’d misjudged this guy. He patted around at the top of his head until he could get hold of the hat, transferring it back to its proper place; already he looked funny without it. Cougar gazed at him as Jensen tucked the hair behind his ears, lingering, relishing. Something… Hmm. There was a question in that stare, a wondering; _what are we now? Strangers, teammates, fuckbuddies, friends?_

“They say it’s not gay if you don’t kiss,” Jensen whispered. He ran a finger over Cougar’s moustache, then nudged his mouth open and sealed it with his own. The salty-sourness of his own cum, slick on Cougar’s tongue, surprised him, but mostly by how inoffensive he found it. He nuzzled into the kiss, and his new friend responded gladly. Sipping at his mouth with a smile, Cougar got up. He smoothed his hair under the hat, then tugged the brim in a salute and turned to glide away.

“Hey. Hang on, man, I can’t let you go like that.” He caught Cougar’s hand, reeling him back, gesturing to the bulge in his pants as Cougar raised his eyebrows. “That’s not right, leaving you with blue balls after that.”

Cougar let himself be pulled against Jensen’s chest, palms hot through his thin t-shirt. Jensen mumbled to himself as he pondered the best way forward; this was new territory for him. Palming Cougar’s hard-on through his jeans, watching his Adam’s apple bob on a hard swallow—that was fun, but this angle was weird. Nodding, he stepped around him, pushed him forward to lean on his hands like he was being frisked, and socketed his front to Cougar’s back. His bare crotch sang at being scoured against the butt of his jeans.

“Oh _yes_. There we go…” Tapping Cougar’s foot with his own to coax his legs apart, he got both hands on the good bits, massaging through the denim. Cougar grunted, taken aback at being made helpless. There was a growing wet spot down there, and sweat built up between them, trickling down Cougar’s neck in tempting gleams. Jensen licked from his collar to his ear.

“Good?” Jensen murmured, to which he nodded a little frantically. Sucking on his neck, nudging his head to the side, he slipped one hand into his pants and the other up under his shirt. It was almost like playing with himself—abs a little leaner, a little less bush downstairs, but generally familiar. There was so much that was new, though. It wasn’t at all like touching a girl. His muscle, for one thing; there were no delicious pads of fat on the hips, no pudge at the belly, no boobs for sure. He was hard lines and solid angles, from the fine bones of his hips and clavicle like stones jutting through the soil to the ripple of surging biceps.

He pushed the shirt up under his arms, exposing him up to the nipples. It was snug enough to stay put on its own, leaving his hands free to explore. Ribs, pecs, abdomen; the shallow trough of his spine running through corded muscle; up the back of his neck and down his arms, then tracing it all again in reverse. It was a full-body experience; he rubbed himself on Cougar’s glutes and suckled the nape of his neck the whole time. Cougar tried to keep stoic, but he was gasping, licking his lips and tossing his head, hands jerking and curling. Jensen crouched to drag his tongue from waistband to shoulder blades, and he arched like a cat.

_This is easier than I thought_. He was hard again, not urgently, just enjoying it. Wrapping an arm around Cougar’s chest to play with his nipple, unzipping him with the other hand, he pulled his dick out into the chill air. He peered over his shoulder, curious, and they met each other’s eyes. A burst of snickering might have derailed the mood, but somehow only made them more comfortable with each other.

“Good thing I have two hands, huh?” he murmured, excavating the goods. He was surprised to find himself liking the musky smell of another man’s sweat and lust. Cougar was wet with cum, which made stroking him easy. Circling the root, tapping the frantic pulse in the vein underneath, pulling hard on the upstroke, then rubbing his palm around the head and giving a few rapid up-and-down pumps with the fresh wetness—it was the rhythm he used on himself, but it was all new for Cougar. Lips parted, eyes rolling, his weight listing from one foot to the other without conscious control—he was a mess. Jensen grinned. Sticking two fingers in his mouth and making sure he saw it happen, he thrust them under his balls, finding the same patch of raw nerve Cougar had used against him. Electrified, Cougar stretched up on his toes, jaw ratcheted tight against a howl. He slapped the top of his shoulder, urgent, begging for—what? A kiss? Jensen tried it, getting a head-shake and a stab of desperate fingers on the spot.

“Oh, you want the kinky shit, don’t you,” he growled. “Alrighty then.” He pulled the strap of his tank-top out of the way and prepped the spot with his tongue, small circles, letting saliva run in tickling drips, all while grinding his perineum hard enough to scrape bone. Cougar groped for his hand, lacing their fingers together in a death grip and dragging his arm around his torso in a fierce embrace.

“You scream and I win,” Jensen said, and _bit_.

It wasn’t quite a scream—it was too choked—but the alarm and frenzy in it made up for the strangled volume. Cum jetted through Jensen’s fist and splattered the wall. He tasted blood. Sucking hard, he shifted his mouth and bit again, grinding the muscle, and was rewarded with another sobbing explosion. He dug his own erection into the curve of Cougar’s lowest spine, climax shooting red and gold light through his brain. Cougar’s legs failed; only Jensen’s crushing grip and the hook of his hard-on between his thighs kept him upright. Together they tipped forward onto the wall, shaking, soaking wet, voicing little sounds of panicked surrender.

“Okay,” Jensen coughed. “Forget trust falls, this is my new favorite corporate bonding activity.”

Cougar gave a hoarse laugh. Jensen rubbed his neck, squeezing lightly over the spine, and it turned into a sigh of pure pleasure. He managed to step away without tripping over his pants, but bending over to pull them up was a trial. He’d be walking funny in the morning, that was a fact. Here’s hoping everyone would be too hungover to notice.

His new friend hadn’t moved. Leaning on one arm, the other hovering over his groin, he shivered with dizzy weakness. Blood seeped into his shirt strap while sweat glued his hair to his face and neck.

“Hey buddy, you okay?” He nodded once, faint and belated. Jensen touched his bare flank. “You sure? I didn’t get too rough, did I?” The headshake this time was stronger, accompanied by a huff of amusement. He tucked himself into his jeans, biting his lip, and pulled his shirt down. His movements were stiff, fumbling, his eyes barely open. Knuckling moisture from his eyes, he fished a bandana from his back pocket and tried to clean himself up.

“Here,” Jensen murmured, taking it out of his hand to mop up the mess he’d left on the small of his back. Folding it over, he dried Cougar’s neck, the top of his spine, under his chin—stepping close again—then pressed it to the crusting bitemarks on his shoulder. “Sorry. Hope that wasn’t too much.”

“Mm.” He covered Jensen’s hand with his own, holding it to the spot, then kissed his knuckles. Finally regaining some coherence, he cast a smile over his shoulder. “Just right.”

That accent was in serious danger of making him initiate round three. He went to run a hand over his soul patch, glitching when he found his palm still thick with juice, and settled for nervously scrubbing his hands together with the bandana. Cougar plucked at his shirt to peel it off his skin.

“Why me?”

His eyebrows rose, and Jensen shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I mean, maybe not Clay cuz he’s the boss, but the other guys, they’re objectively pretty hot. And until roughly twenty minutes ago, I’d have said we’re all straight. Why me?"

Thoughtful, Cougar reached for his face, fingers sliding from his cheek to cup his jaw. Somehow that simple touch was more intimate than everything they’d just shared. Jensen swallowed, blushing and breathless, and Cougar retracted his hand. Jensen hunched, trying to see under his hat, then nudged it up out of the way. Those night-dark eyes were hesitant, lighting on his like a butterfly, darting away. Easing into his space, Jensen coaxed him into a longer gaze.

“I thought you were standoffish,” he murmured, the prickle of Cougar’s moustache brushing his lips. “But you’re just shy, aren’t you? That’s all.”

“Mm.”

He pressed in, guiding Cougar into the wall, hands dropping to his slender hips like they’d known them all his life. Hungry kisses, Cougar’s hands on his face, the back of his head, the grunt of hot breath tasting of want and uncertainty. Fuckbuddies was fun; this wasn’t fun. This was old hurt, old fears, and Jensen tasted both in his flinches, and tasted the courage it’d taken to try again.

Cougar broke free with a gasp, stumbling down the alley, shuddering like a wet dog. Jensen stayed with him, arms under his and tight around his chest, head rubbing into his neck. “Hey, hey,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” Kissing his ear, rocking him, he made gentle noises until Cougar spun around, clutching, knocking their foreheads together as he clung to his mouth.

“I got you, I got you,” Jensen gasped, half lost in the maelstrom. Powerful fingers gouged his shoulder blades, wringing a wince from him, but he didn’t complain. Confident, sexy Cougar had slipped, and something raw, something real and frightened and desperately alone, shone through the cracks. He didn’t know where that pain originated, and it didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was that he could help.

Cougar shoved his head under Jensen’s chin. Gradually, the hot tears slowed, the shaking ended, and he could take a deep breath without it threatening to crack him open. Jensen mumbled to him the entire time, nonsense noises, nothing but dumb animal comfort.

“Sorry,” Cougar muttered. Back stiff, rolling his lips between his teeth in self-punishment, he made to pull away. Jensen refused. Kissing all the way into his throat, rubbing a certain lumbar disc that he’d already noticed sent an electric rush through him, he dominated, demanding the sniper leave the shattered remnants of his shield on the ground where they belonged.

“Never be sorry to me,” he rasped. “You’re special to me now, Cougs. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.”

“Yes, you would. That’s why I picked you.”

“Well…alright, maybe. But this is yours now.”

Cougar surrendered with a tired nod, leaning on his shoulder. Kissing his hair, denying the urge to examine just what the actual fuck he was thinking—or feeling—here, Jensen led him vaguely toward his trailer. Already imagining what his intriguing new teammate would look like under candlelight, slick with sweat and moaning, or dreaming in the blue shimmer of dawn, he ventured a snuggling kiss that was met with a smile. This might be the most unconventional means of getting to know someone he’d ever tried, but he liked it. It boded well. Now they had time to build on it…maybe make something real.

And he wanted to hear another orgasm in that accent.


End file.
